


Someone to Lean On

by AngryPirateHusbands



Series: Let Me Guide You Through This Nightmare [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coping, Developing Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 19:50:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8340442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryPirateHusbands/pseuds/AngryPirateHusbands
Summary: As Flint's nightmares continue, Silver does his best to extend some form of comfort.Takes place in S3.





	

The nightmares only persisted after that night. While they were never the same, they all revolved around Miranda's death and the carnage that rapidly followed suite. It was rare for even a few days to pass by without Flint awaking with a jolt in the middle of the night. Images of blood, ashen flesh, smoke and soot would persist at the back of his mind. It had almost become a part of his routine. He could only manage a few hours of light sleep before he stirred, sweat clinging to his brow and his heart pounding in his ears like a drum. And as always, Silver was there. After the amputation of his leg he was _always_ there. Either reading or watching him from the large window seat that now doubled as his bed. Not that he had any right to complain. After all, it had been his idea to move him up from below deck in the first place. So as much as Flint bristled at the thought of Silver being present for his nightmares, his weakness, he refused to toss him out.

Silver never questioned the subject of his haunts after that night. In fact, he never mentioned any of it at all. Even during those few moments of terror and uncertainty after waking when Silver would offer some form of comfort. Most of the time it came in the form of a cup of water or a cool cloth to wipe his face. A few times he even offered Flint an empty bucket, apparently fearful that he'd need to call someone to clean up another mess. That stopped abruptly after one night, in a frustrated rage, he threw the thing across the room. Yet even when Flint would startle awake in the middle of the night, long past the last candle had been snuffled out, Silver was there to sooth him. Flint would be staring up at the pitch black ceiling, trying to calm his rapid breaths, and he would hear him.

 _"It's alright, captain..._ " Silver's voice would be quiet and groggy from his interrupted sleep, but it was there.

Flint supposed it was only fitting how their roles had become reversed. After all, not too long ago he had been the one keeping Silver grounded.

One night when Flint stirred it was not due to the nightmare itself, but the the gentle hand that shook his shoulder. Even so Flint started, his hand immediately reaching to grab Silver tightly by the wrist. The man was peering down at him with a calm but concerned expression. "Thought I should wake you," he explained gently.  
  
Flint's grip didn't loosen. "Why?" Mistrust colored his expression despite himself.  
  
"You were talking in your sleep."  
  
Flint's gaze only hardened. Though he released his hold on Silver, he could quickly feel the tension forming in his neck and jaw at the claim. He had never been one to talk in his sleep. Granted, it had been a while since he had slept in the same quarters as another person so consistently. But then there it was, that worry of what he could have possibly said. If it had been something incriminating, something that would require some sort of explanation of his past.

Silver seemed to sense the captain's unease. "It's alright," he assured him with a raise of his newly freed hand. "You just said her name, _Miranda_. Figured I should rouse you before you spilled anything else.." A small wry smile pulled at his lips before he continued. "Didn't want to hear anything that would have me killed later."

Flint scoffed with a shake of his head.

"Need some air?" Silver then asked.  
  
"No, but a drink would be nice." Silver hummed and moved away from the cot on two crutches. As Flint sat up he saw that the quartermaster's iron peg was missing, the new boot leaning against the wall by the window seat. "Your leg hurting you?" Flint asked, his tone feigning disinterest as he watched the man.

Silver chuckled. "Of course," he stated rather simply. He had made his way to the desk and was currently pouring them both a glass of rum.  
  
"Yet you wanted to go wandering around the deck?" Flint asked with an arched brow. He stood to grab his drink so that Silver wouldn't have to struggle more than he already was. Silver's only answer was a pointed shrug as he downed the contents his glass. Flint was watching the man carefully. Once again his quartermaster was doing what he could to lessen the toll Charlestown was taking on him, except this time he was pushing himself. He supposed the least he could do was meet the man halfway.

Flint's thumb traveled over the rim of his own emptied glass. They had spent several minutes alone in silence, simply drinking and enjoying each other's quiet company. Finally, though, Flint spoke. "They shot her in the head," he explained quietly. "Miranda Barlow.." Silver had started to pour another glass but stilled at his words. And so Flint recanted the events at Charlestown, describing Miranda's death and the betrayal that had led up to it. While he was certainly vague about certain pieces of information, he did what Silver had wanted all along and laid himself bare. Silver had asked his own questions, but they were also decidedly obscure and served only to coax him along. By the time Flint was finished they had been talking for perhaps an hour or two.

The conversation gave way to silence as Silver seemingly considered this new information. Eventually the gentle thump of crutches filled the room before Silver joined his captain on the cot. When Flint remained silent, his form tensing at the sudden intrusion of his space, Silver simply scooted even closer. "It's alright to be vulnerable on occasion," he said gently. "The men need their captain to remain strong, yes, but... It's alright to lean on someone."

Flint's fingers twiddled slowly in his lap, the man still bent over his knees. "Your job as quartermaster is to serve the men, not to keep me sane," he reminded him.

"I'd like to think I can do both."

When Flint finally met his gaze the man was smirking. Despite himself, Flint could feel the way his own features softened. "I do, too.." he murmured softly.


End file.
